


Over You

by Thursday_Next



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Back Together, M/M, Pining, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin sees Arthur at a party for the first time since their break-up two months ago. He has every intention of pretending his heart isn’t broken –- especially since none of their friends even know they were ever together. But when he has to contend with Arthur unexpectedly bringing a date, Gwaine deciding to be his fake boyfriend, and a good deal of sniping, it soon becomes apparent that Merlin’s not as over Arthur as he tries to pretend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlantedKnitting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlantedKnitting/gifts).



> Happy Merlin Holidays, SlantedKnitting! Many thanks to my beta, A.

“I hope you’ve brought something to change into,” Gwen says, laughing as she looks up at Merlin. “You’ve got flour everywhere.” They’re up to their elbows in it, the both of them, having been baking for the best part of the afternoon.

“Speak for yourself,” Merlin grins, “You’ve got some on your nose.” He reaches across to brush it off, but only really succeeds in making more of a mess.

“It’s nice to see you smile again, Merlin,” Gwen says, looking at him fondly. “You haven’t been yourself the past couple of months.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin says, heart beating just a little bit faster at the reminder. 

“You always say that. This is the first time in a while that I’ve actually believed you, though.” The pastry cases filled, Gwen opens the oven and pushes the tray inside. “Oh don’t worry, I won’t press you, I promised, didn’t I?” Gwen closes the oven door, comes over and lays a floury hand on his arm. “I just wish you’d remember that we’re your friends, Leon and I; we won’t judge you, whatever it is.”

And oh how many times he’s wished over the past few months to be able to tell her just what was eating him up inside. But it’s not just his secret to tell. And anyway, it doesn’t matter now. It’s over. And he’s over it, he is.

“Well,” Merlin says, drawing in a deep breath, “the fact is…” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “I killed the last person who got flour on my shirt and buried her under my patio.”

“You git,” Gwen says, laughing and smacking him on the arm. “You don’t even have a patio, your flat’s even smaller than ours.” She gestures in his direction with the rolling pin, and Merlin ducks out of her way just in case. “Come on, help me clear this lot up, I still need a shower before everyone else gets here.”

“Who’s coming, anyway?” Merlin asks, grabbing a cloth as Gwen stacks the mixing bowls in the sink.

“Let’s see, you me and Leon, then Elyan, Elena, Gwaine –“

“Of course,” Merlin breaks in, “I’ve never known Gwaine to miss out on a party.”

“Oh, and Arthur, of course.”

Merlin freezes. Fortunately Gwen has her back to him as she runs the water. He has a second to get his voice under control.

“A-Arthur’s coming?”

“Yes, he’s back in town. Haven’t you seen him yet?” She frowns as she turns to look at him. “He’s been out a couple of times with Leon already.” 

Merlin shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

“Ah, well, you know, I’ve been really busy and I’m sure he has too.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to catch up tonight,” Gwen says breezily.

“Yes,” Merlin says faintly, veins running ice cold. “Yes, I suppose we will.”

 

“Shit, shit, fuck, fuck, bastard, bollocks, bugger,” Merlin swears to himself, safe in the knowledge that the sound of the shower running will mask the sound. If only he hadn’t agreed to come to this party. If only he hadn’t already been in the flat, he could have come up with some last minute excuse. Even now he’s eyeing the door and considering just leaving Gwen a note. But then he reflects, and squares his shoulders. Why should he leave? These are his friends, too, he has just as much reason to be here as Arthur. More, really, since he’s not the one who fucked off halfway across the country the moment things got difficult. 

If only he had known though, if only he’d had time to prepare. To make himself look unutterably gorgeous so that Arthur could see exactly what he was missing. Instead of wearing floury jeans and one of Gwen’s jogging t-shirts, tight around the shoulders and baggy around the chest (but still a better fit than one of Leon’s). If he’d had a few weeks’ advance notice, maybe he would even have had time to find himself a tall, fit, handsome boyfriend to drape himself over. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t mind so much about Arthur coming.

But it’s too late for maybes. He’s here, Arthur will soon be here, and he’s going to make a damned good job of pretending his heart isn’t still broken in front of a whole bunch of people who don’t even know they were ever together. 

 

Of course, with Merlin’s luck, it can’t be as simple as that. After having mini-heart attacks every time the doorbell rings, only to find first Elyan, then Elena and then Gwaine on the other side of the door, Merlin is blindsided when Gwen answers the door to not only Arthur, but _Arthur’s plus-one._

For a second he manages to convince himself the dark hair and smart white jacket belong to Morgana, but he knows he’s just kidding himself when Arthur steps into the room and introduces everyone to “my date, Mithian.”

There are enough people there that Merlin manages to hang back without looking too obviously reluctant, and when Gwen loops her arm through his and practically drags him forward he manages to paste a smile on his face, greet Arthur as if they are nothing more than old acquaintances and say “hi!” to Mithian without throwing up on her ridiculously pointy and expensive looking shoes. 

“Merlin,” Arthur’s smile tightens almost imperceptibly. If Merlin didn’t know him so well – know him _intimately_ \-- he might have overlooked it. Arthur’s worried, he thinks -- worried that Merlin will do something embarrassing, perhaps. Have one drink too many and let slip his big gay secret. “Nice t-shirt,” Arthur says, a familiar mocking lilt to his voice that reminds Merlin of the first time they met so forcefully that his chest constricts. Arthur has always been a little bit of a bastard. It’s never stopped Merlin fancying the pants off him in the past, but he steels himself now, wills himself to conjure up some invisible magical armour that will stop any of Arthur’s barbs getting through.

“Arthur, you look well. Have you put on weight?” he asks, all innocence. Gwen once told him he had such an innocent face he could get away with anything. And two can play at that game. Arthur’s eyes narrow, but Mithian squeezes Arthur around the middle and smiles at him, and Merlin feels that any advantage has been lost instantly, as Arthur’s attention slides easily from him to Elyan, striking up a conversation about Charlton’s progress in the F.A. Cup.

Merlin turns to Gwaine, newly returned from the kitchen with a tray of drinks.

“Gwaine, can I speak to you for a minute, please?” Merlin asks, all but dragging his friend away into the spare bedroom and shutting the door behind them.

“Merlin, calm down,” Gwaine says when they’re out of earshot. 

Gwaine is the only one who knows about him and Arthur. At least, assuming Arthur hasn’t told anyone. And Merlin thinks that’s a fairly safe assumption, since it was at Arthur’s insistence that they kept their relationship secret in the first place. 

“I just don’t know if I can do this, Gwaine!” Merlin says. “Pretending everything’s fine while he’s fucked off to Manchester, I can manage. Pretending everything’s fine while he’s there in the same room swanning around with his new girlfriend, acting as if nothing… Fuck, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Merlin. Merlin!” Gwaine grabs him by the shoulders and spins him round so he can look him in the eye. “You can do this, okay? You’re the strongest person I know, and you can definitely handle a couple of hours with your ex and his new squeeze.”

Put like that, it seems trivial. He’s never been able to refer to Arthur out loud as just ‘my ex’, so he’s never quite thought of him like that. It makes it all seem a lot more ordinary, stepping back from the drama of their secret relationship and the fraught break-up. 

“Yes, you’re right,” he says.

“Besides,” Gwaine says, pulling him into a hug, “You’ve got me. If it all gets too much, I’ll spill a drink in his lap.”

Merlin snorts with laughter and relaxes into the embrace.

It’s then that the door opens, and he can hear Arthur’s voice.

“I’ll just put our coats in the guest – ”

“Oh!” exclaims an unfamiliar feminine voice that can only be Mithian’s. 

Merlin goes to pull back, but to his surprise Gwaine keeps one arm firmly around his shoulders.

“Ah, looks like we’ve been caught, Merlin, love.”

“Gwaine, what –” Merlin begins, but Gwaine cuts him off again.

“Yes, I guess our secret is out in the open,” he declares, loud enough to be heard all over the flat. 

“Gwaine!” Merlin protests through gritted teeth.

“No need to be shy about it,” Gwaine says as they step back out into the living area, “we’re among friends here. Friends, Merlin and I would like to announce that we… are a couple!”

There are surprised exclamation and muted congratulations. Under the guise of whispering in his ear, Merlin leans into Gwaine.

“How exactly is this supposed to help?” he demands in a hiss. 

“Watch and learn, _sweetheart_ ,” Gwaine replies, with a grin.

Looking nervously around, Merlin catches Arthur’s eye and sees that he looks troubled. Perhaps Gwaine’s idea isn’t a complete dead loss after all. He leans into Gwaine’s side as they emerge into the living area, and answers Gwen’s accusing finger with a shy smile.

“You’re just lucky I don’t still have my rolling pin,” she says. “You sly thing! I knew something was up. Is this why you’ve been so miserable the last couple of months, pining for Gwaine?”

Merlin feels his cheeks heat with mortification.

“I haven’t been pining,” he says with a conviction he doesn’t feel. He can’t bring himself to look in Arthur’s direction. 

Elyan comes over and shakes them both by the hand, Elena punches them both on the arm.

“Ow,” Merlin protests.

“That’s what you get for keeping secrets. Honestly, did you think anyone would be anything less than happy for you?”

“I’m afraid it was my fault,” Gwaine says, with false sincerity laid on so thick Merlin’s surprised any of them can swallow it, “Merlin here didn’t like lying to you all, but I wasn’t quite ready to come out.”

“You should have known nobody here would be anything but supportive,” Gwen says, “but of course it’s your decision when to tell us.”

She hugs them both. Merlin’s head is spinning from the irony of having his fake secret relationship accepted so readily after months of angsting over his real secret relationship. He wonders how Arthur feels about seeing all this easy acceptance from their friends. He’d told him enough times when they were together that none of their friends would mind that they were together – nobody had bothered when Gwen and Leon had announced they were seeing each other, after all. Arthur had called him an idiot for not seeing that it wasn’t the same thing at all. 

“I think this calls for champagne, don’t you honey?” Gwaine says, kissing his cheek as he hurries off to the kitchen. Merlin is going to have to have a word with him about the pet names if nothing else; Arthur knows for certain that Merlin hates them.

“I thought you didn’t drink champagne, Merlin,” Arthur says. It’s true that Merlin has always avoided it; champagne gives him headaches. 

“Tastes change,” he says with a smirk, and when Gwaine returns with a bottle of bubbly he holds his glass up to be filled.

The sound of the key in the lock heralds the return of Leon. Gwen rushes to hug her husband.

“Public display of affection coming up,” Leon says, “Elyan, you may want to avert your eyes.” And he proceeds to snog Gwen thoroughly before letting her go with a squeeze, as Elyan rolls his eyes in the background. “What are we celebrating?” he asks, spotting the champagne.

“Merlin and Gwaine,” Gwen informs him, “have just announced that they’re together.”

To Merlin’s surprise, Leon frowns and his eyes dart first to Arthur, before returning to him and Gwaine. 

“Well, that’s certainly unexpected. Congratulations, though,” and he accepts a glass and raises it to them. “To Merlin and Gwaine.”

“Merlin and Gwaine,” everyone else echoes. Merlin can’t make himself look in Arthur’s direction, but he’s fairly sure Arthur’s eyes are burning a hole through his head. He tips his own glass up and drains it.

 

Gwen insists that she doesn’t need Merlin’s help in the kitchen; he’s helped enough, apparently, and should go and enjoy himself. There’s fat chance of that, Merlin thinks, as his shoulders slump and he creeps back into the lounge, hoping he won’t be noticed. 

Gwaine has other ideas, though, calling him over and draping his arm conspicuously over Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur’s eyes narrow, and even though Elyan’s in the middle of an anecdote, he turns to them.

“So you two didn’t mention how long you’ve been together?”

“Oh, um, it was all quite sudden,” Merlin replies, perfectly truthfully. And then, because he wants to get at Arthur just a little bit, he snuggles in to Gwaine’s side and says, “We just couldn’t keep our hands off each other any longer.”

He thinks about when he and Arthur first got together, all hot mouths and startled breaths and clumsy, tentative touches. He’d had a crush for some time, but had no idea Arthur could possibly reciprocate until he’d shoved him up against the wall and kissed him. They’d been drunk and reckless and impossibly turned-on. If he lives to be a hundred or more, Merlin doesn’t think he’ll forget Arthur’s surprised gasps as he slid to his knees and took him in his mouth. 

His face heats, thinking about it now, and he consoles himself with the knowledge that Arthur can’t possibly know what he’s thinking about. Except that Arthur’s cheeks are tinged pink, as though he might be remembering it too.

“So what about you?” Gwaine says, when Merlin falters. “Been together long?”

“Actually,” Mithian starts, but Arthur coughs, interrupting her. 

“It’s all still very new,” Arthur says. “But that’s the best part, isn’t that right?” He squeezes Mithian’s hand and she smiles up at him. Merlin swallows.

“Yeah,” he says. “Excuse me a minute.” Merlin steps away and heads along the corridor to the bathroom and closes the door firmly behind him. He leans his head against the mirror and takes a few deep breaths.

When he comes out, Arthur is there, just leaning against the wall outside. Merlin curses silently. The corridor is narrow and there’s no way he can avoid him. He tries not to look at him, but his eyes betray him. Arthur is staring at his lip.

“You got it done.” Of course, the piercing. Merlin had wanted to get it done before, when they were together. Arthur had been against it. Needles and piercings make him squeamish. 

“Yeah.” Merlin had gone out in a fit of pique shortly after their break-up and had it done. He’d put on his tightest, brightest t-shirt and gone out to a club where he’d found a guy who was very appreciative of it. It hadn’t made him feel better. His lip had been sore and he’d felt a sick twist in his stomach every time he opened his eyes and the man with his head thrown back against the tiles wasn’t Arthur.

“It suits you.” Merlin doesn’t know what to make of that. Arthur doesn’t particularly like piercings, and he’s saying that Merlin’s suits him. He can’t work out whether it’s a change of heart of a roundabout way of insulting him. Knowing Arthur, Merlin decides it’s probably the latter. 

“Yeah, well, your _beard_ suits you,” he snipes, taking momentary advantage of Arthur’s confusion to brush past him. For a minute it’s all too reminiscent of when they were together, sneaking off to the bathroom to shove each other against walls and kiss furiously, covert hand-holding under the table, any excuse to brush up against one another and their friends none the wiser. 

“Hey!” Arthur says, “Merlin that’s not fair…”

Fair? Merlin nearly scoffs out loud. Nothing about any of this is fair. But he doesn’t stay to hear whatever the prat has to say next.

 

Dinner is served, the wine flows freely. Merlin can’t be surprised that most of his friends don’t seem to have picked up on any awkwardness, he knows just how hopelessly oblivious they can be. It’s a squeeze to fit the eight of them around the table; Merlin’s knees are practically knocking into Elyan’s, sat across from him, and he’s just glad he’s not sitting opposite Arthur. 

 

Arthur and Mithian are all cosied up together. Merlin has the sudden sick feeling that he was wrong in calling her Arthur’s beard. Maybe Arthur really does prefer girls. Maybe that was the problem with the two of them all along. Maybe Merlin was never anything more than a drunken experiment Arthur didn’t know how to let down gently. Part of him knows that’s not true, the part of him that remembers Arthur’s strained breathing as they lay tangled together in the afterglow, the awed way he whispered his name when Merlin kissed his way down his body. He closes his eyes to force the flood of remembered images from his mind.

Gwaine sits down next to him, hand ruffling his hair, continuing the charade. Merlin’s grateful to him, he really is; Gwaine’s just trying to be a good friend. But in some ways he can’t help feeling it’s only making the situation worse. 

Gwen has done her best to decorate the table with flowers and candles. It would be lovely, if it wasn’t for the fact that firstly, Merlin’s pretty sure it’s a fire hazard, and secondly, the candlelight shines off Arthur’s hair, making him look unfairly beautiful. Merlin’s never been blinded by Arthur’s good looks into overlooking how much of a prat he can be; he was always the one to call him out on it, both before they got together and after. But that’s not to say he isn’t susceptible to them in other ways. It’s his eyes, mostly, his crooked smile, that promise of kindness and nobility beneath the prattish exterior that Merlin knows to be true.

It’s hard, harder even than he imagined it would be, to sit across the table and pretend they’ve never been anything but mates when he can remember Arthur, gloriously and unselfconsciously naked, padding across his bedroom floor, when he can remember him stretched out on top of him and looking at him as though he was the only person in the world. If they had been the only people in the world, no doubt it would all have been easier, but it hadn’t taken long for the outside world to encroach upon their bubble of happiness. 

“Sauce, Merlin?” Gwaine asks, smiling soppily at him. It makes him look like a right numpty and Merlin’s lips twitch, wanting to laugh, but he doesn’t want to give the game away just yet, especially since it seems to have successfully needled Arthur at least a little bit.

“Surely you know Merlin’s allergic?” Arthur scoffs, breaking off his conversation with Mithian to glare at Gwaine as though he’s deliberately trying to poison Merlin. _And just why would you care if he did, Arthur?_ Merlin wants to demand, although he knows it’s unfair. It strikes him then that the worst part of their break-up wasn’t just losing his lover, but losing his best friend. He’s not sure that there’s any way for them to become friends again now.

“Mushrooms,” Merlin explains, giving Gwaine an apologetic half-smile.

“Mushrooms, eh? Never knew that about you,” Gwaine says, pouring himself a double helping of the sauce.

“Seems like a lot you don’t know,” Arthur remarks. “Although given your track record, I’m surprised you even remember his name.” 

Gwaine sets the jug of sauce carefully and deliberately down on the table. Merlin admires his self-control. He’s half-tempted to snatch up the jug and throw it at Arthur’s stupid, smug face.

“Merlin has been my good friend for several years now,” Gwaine says, hint of steel in his voice. “And although there’s a lot we’re still learning about each other, you can rest assured that I would never hurt him.” 

An awkward hush has fallen over the table and Arthur has no choice but to back down, or else make himself look like even more of an ass. 

“Good,” he says firmly, sounding for all the world like an over-protective elder brother. “I’m glad.” Merlin can’t quite decipher the expression on his face. 

Elena starts a discussion about a new film she enjoyed, and the momentary awkwardness dissipates. 

Merlin lapses into thoughtful brooding as his friends chatter all around him. Of all of them, it’s Gwaine that could most accurately be described as the life and soul of the party, always drinking and laughing and joking, but Merlin’s always had a knack for conversing with all sorts of people. He’s not easily deterred by surliness, and he can coax shyer people into opening up. Even when he does come across someone who’s not easily charmed by him – like Arthur, when they first met – he generally manages to wear them down with persistent cheerfulness.

But cheerfulness has been in short supply over the past two months, and especially so tonight. 

He knows it’s ridiculous, but he’d harboured a secret belief that he and Arthur _belonged_ together. That they complemented each other in myriad ways, from the way they argued to the way their fingers interlocked when they held hands. 

Merlin doesn’t even realise Gwen has asked him a question until Gwaine nudges him.

“Merlin? You alright?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” he says. “Sorry Gwen.”

“I was only saying about the trouble we had with the pastries this afternoon. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Only a headache,” he lies.

“Well, I told you you’ve got no head for champagne,” Arthur butts in. It’s no different to how Arthur would tease him before, when they were together, or even before that, when they were friends, but it feels different now. 

“It’s just as well we didn’t have Arthur helping us this afternoon,” Merlin says, ignoring Arthur’s comment. “He’s absolutely hopeless at cooking. One time he tried to make me scrambled eggs – it looked like the whole kitchen had been scrambled.” Only when he sees Arthur’s hand tighten around the stem of his glass does he realise what he’s said. 

“Why on Earth was Arthur trying to cook you eggs?” Elyan laughs.

“Oh, I, er, I stayed round his one time I was too drunk to make it home,” Arthur says, a certain tightness to his voice, “it was supposed to be a peace offering.”

That much is true enough, at least. They’d had a silly, drunken spat about some guy who had been hitting on Merlin. Arthur had been sitting right next to him, but evidently the guy hadn’t clocked that they were together – or just hadn’t cared, perhaps. Arthur had blamed Merlin for not telling him he was with someone. Merlin had declared it was Arthur’s fault for never acting like they were together in public, even when there was nobody they knew around to see. The eggs might have been a disaster but the make-up sex in the morning had been incredible. Looking back on that night now, though, Merlin thinks it might have been the beginning of the end – the unravelling of all their insecurities and doubts, their very different hopes and expectations. 

 

Nobody questions Arthur’s explanation, just like none of them ever questioned any of their explanations all the time they were together. Even when Arthur felt brave enough to sling an arm around Merlin’s shoulder, or when one of them drove the other home, people just assumed they were being matey. Part of Merlin knows it’s unfair to blame Arthur for other people’s assumptions, but he can’t blame everyone else either, not when Arthur had always done his best to encourage the assumptions. At first it was a thrill, getting away with it, keeping it secret, but as time went on it began to bother him more and more.

“So, Mithian,” Elyan says, leaning closer than is strictly necessary, “where did you say you were spending Christmas?”

“Brittany. My father decided to retire to France, he has a cottage there, a few chickens. It’s really quite lovely.”

“Portsmouth ferry?” Elyan asks.

“Bryan Ferry?” Merlin says, almost without thinking about it. It’s a lame old inside joke, one from the earliest days of their friendship. Arthur laughs, a short bark of laughter as if it’s been startled out of him. Merlin looks up, surprised, and their eyes catch and hold. The laughter in Arthur’s eyes fades into something like regret. 

And that’s worse, somehow, than all the sniping and posturing and one-upmanship. He can’t bear the idea that Arthur might feel sorry for him. He pushes back his chair and gets to his feet, nearly unbalancing Gwaine in the process.

“I need a smoke. Sorry.” He doesn’t dare look at anyone as he heads out to the balcony, ignoring the concerned voices behind him. 

The cool night air hits him like a slap in the face. He should have walked out the moment he heard Gwen say Arthur’s name. He can’t do this. He’s not ready. He’s not over him, not by a long shot. They’ve got a whole history together, and it’s not something he can just brush aside easily, even if Arthur can. His hands are trembling as he reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. It takes three attempts to get the fag to light.

“I thought you’d quit.”

Merlin doesn’t even turn around. 

“Go away, Arthur,” he says, too weary now for any kind of comeback.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Arthur says, and comes to lean over the balcony next to him. Merlin can feel the hairs on his arm stand up. He pretends it’s from the cold, but he’s not fooling himself, not anymore. “I need to talk to you. I wanted to tell you you were right.”

“About your terrible cooking or about Bryan Ferry?” Merlin tries, but it falls flat.

“About you and me,” Arthur says, in that hesitant, slightly constipated way he has when he tries to do something out of his comfort zone -- like apologise. “I should never have made you keep it a secret for so long.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s a bit like being exonerated for a crime when you’ve already served your sentence. It doesn’t make any difference now. 

“Arthur –”

“Leon told me I’d been an idiot, if it’s any consolation,” Arthur says.

“Leon?” Merlin asks, confused. “Leon knows?”

“He’s been a good friend. He was the one who advised me to take the secondment in Manchester. Thought it might help me get a little perspective.”

“And did it?” Merlin can’t help asking.

Arthur leans over the balcony again. 

“I… I found out some things, yeah. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I hope we can… I’d like it if we could be friends again.”

“Right.” He’s had a million stupid daydreams about Arthur seeking him out and apologising, but somehow it’s not the triumph he imagined. Nor does he have it in him to be as cool and cutting as he’d always pictured himself being. He’s not sure he has it in him to be friends with Arthur again, either. If this evening has proven anything, it’s that he’s not over him at all.

“I’m… I’m happy for you. And Gwaine. Really,” Arthur says. He doesn’t sound it. “He doesn’t deserve you, but…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Arthur. Gwaine and I aren’t together.”

“But –” 

“He decided to pretend. It wasn’t my idea. It was just… Look, can we just skip all this? I don’t want your pity, or your confessional… or whatever this is. Just go back inside to your date and enjoy the rest of your evening, alright? I’m going home.” He stubs out his cigarette on the wall and turns to go. Arthur catches his arm.

“No, wait, Merlin.” There’s a note of pleading in his voice that Merlin can’t quite resist. There’s a flare of heat where Arthur’s hand curls around his arm and a terrible weakness right at his very core. He swallows hard and stills. “Please.” Arthur pauses. “Mithian and I –”

“Jesus, Arthur, I don’t –” He jerks his arm away.

“Please. Mithian’s a friend of Morgana’s. We met two days ago. I practically begged her to come here with me because I knew you’d be here and I wasn’t sure I could… I suppose I hoped it would make you jealous.” Merlin snorts at that. “I know it wasn’t – it wasn’t very mature of me, but…”

“But what? You wanted to hurt me? You’ve succeeded. You must feel so proud.”

“Merlin, that’s hardly fair. You were the one who broke up with me!” Arthur’s practically shouting now. Most likely everyone in the flat can hear him, probably everyone in the entire block of flats. There’s probably people in Scotland who know, now.

“You know why I did,” Merlin says, voice low and rough. His fingers itch for another cigarette.

“But what if… what if those reasons weren’t there anymore?” 

Merlin looks up. 

“What do you mean?” 

Arthur reaches for him, fingers shaking as they catch on the edge of Merlin’s t-shirt. Merlin closes his eyes. He wants, so badly, but he did the hard part, walking away in the first place.

“I mean,” Arthur says, his fingers creeping up to Merlin’s shoulders, “what if we didn’t have to hide. What if I told everybody how much I –” he stops. Merlin’s throat seizes. They’ve never made any declarations to each other. He’s not sure he can bear to hear Arthur say it now.

“Arthur,” he says, no more than a croak. There’s a burst of music from inside. 

“I know, it’s probably too late, but if you still have feelings for me…” Merlin has more feelings than he can properly articulate, has always had more feelings for Arthur than he knows what to do with. Arthur’s fingers are resting on the nape of his neck.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” Arthur’s breath is warm against his skin.

“Shut up.” 

And this time it’s Merlin shoving Arthur up against the wall, using his height to his advantage and capturing Arthur’s lips with his own in a forceful kiss. Arthur kisses back hungrily, like he’s starving for it -- and that was something that always amazed Merlin about Arthur, how desperate he always seemed, how he couldn’t seem to get enough of Merlin’s mouth and hands and cock and everything. 

Merlin’s veneer of control slips, his hand shaking as he reaches up to touch Arthur’s face. Arthur grabs his wrist, grounding him, and draw him in closer. Their bodies align easily, as if they haven’t lost their sense memory of doing this, even after two months apart. It’s been so long, Merlin thinks as he buries his face in Arthur’s neck and breathes him in, too fucking long. He’s not exactly been celibate these past couple of months and he doubts Arthur has either – he knows there’s a story behind Arthur ‘figuring things out’ in Manchester that he’s not sure he’s ever going to be ready to hear. But it’s been too long _without Arthur_ , and if the way Arthur’s pushing against him is any indication he feels the same way. 

He can feel that Arthur’s as hard as he is, and the urge to slip down to his knees right there and press his face against Arthur’s crotch is almost overwhelming. But Arthur won’t let him go, kissing him again and running his tongue over the stud in his lip. He’s not used to it yet and it catches, but Merlin discovers he likes the jolt it gives him, wants to discover how Arthur will look, how he will sound when he runs his lips over every inch of him. Merlin feels like he’s burning up. Arthur’s hand works its way beneath the material of his top, a chill shock against his hot skin. 

Merlin’s hand slips downwards, the heel of it pressing hard against the thickness of Arthur’s erection. Arthur groans his approval. They’ve never bothered with niceties like asking first. The first few weeks after they’d first slept together they hadn’t talked at all about this thing they were doing, but somehow they’d found themselves with their mouths locked and their hands down each other’s pants whenever they had a few minutes alone together. They’d never had any problems communicating their desire; communicating their feelings has always been more their issue.

The door to the balcony opening startles them both. Merlin goes to spring back instinctively, but Arthur’s arms tighten around him, as if daring the interloper to comment. Merlin flushes, knowing what a state they both must look, flushed and mussed and visibly flustered, and adjusts his trousers awkwardly. 

“Well,” Gwaine says, “I’m happy the two of you have finally got your act together and all, and it’s great that you’re comfortable, er, displaying affection in public, but I thought I’d better remind you that this is probably a little more public than either of you had in mind.” Merlin winces as he realises just how overlooked the balcony is by the other flats. “Also, I take it I’m dumped from the position of fake boyfriend?”

“Merlin doesn’t need a fake boyfriend,” Arthur says firmly, and it thrills Merlin a little to think that Arthur was _jealous_ of him and Gwaine. Arthur’s possessive streak has been a pain in the arse in the past but it’s also undeniably hot. “He’s got a real one.”

“Sorry Gwaine, you can consider yourself well and truly dumped,” Merlin adds, with a shy grin.

“You wound me, sweetpea,” Gwaine says, pressing his hand to his heart in an exaggerated fashion. “But if this means I can have a crack at the lovely Mithian…”

“From what I can see,” Merlin adds, craning his neck to get a view of the inside of the flat, “she and Elyan seem to be pretty cosy.”

“Ah well, you win some you lose some,” Gwaine says. “I’ll give you a minute.”

Arthur’s fingers pull at the hem of Merlin’s t-shirt.

“Well, I suppose we’d better go inside?”

Arthur sounds nervous. Merlin sympathises, he’s not too keen to face up to lying to Gwen yet again, after she’s been nothing but supportive. He wishes they could skip this bit and just get straight to the going home and shagging each other’s brains out portion of the evening. He finds certain parts of his anatomy, ardour cooled by the arrival of Gwaine, are on board with this plan. But short of abseiling down from the balcony, six floors up, they really have no choice but to go in and face the music.

“I suppose so.” 

He reaches over and takes Arthur’s hand and they step inside together.


End file.
